1 letter 1 confession true love?
by Dragonbaby81
Summary: PG Because of SLASH- but really G. Harry has had a horrible day, but will a letter change everything? 1 shot, complete.


Just incase you didn't read the summary, this is SLASH! Don't flame me because you think it is wrong, or what ever. Just don't read it. As always, everything belongs to the great goddess of fiction (aka J.K. Rowling), and if you recognize something it is hers. Oh, and to my muse, Nelly Furtado (who in all honety doesn't know I exist). The lyrics in the letter are from her cd "Whoa Nelly"- the song is called "Well, Well." I got the lyrics from http://www.lyricsondemand.com/n/nellyfurtadolyrics/  
  
This is my first fan fic, so please leave me a review! I would love to hear from you!   
  
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After a long day of classes, which included being stuck on a moving stair case (while it decided to move), being cornered by the Creavey brothers with their ever present camara flashing away, and double potions with the Slytherins (which of course ended in humiliation with a sarcastic retort made by Malfoy that hit a little too close to home), Harry J Potter returned to his dorm room and collapsed on his bed. Groaning to himself, he pulled off his glasses and prepared to set them on the small bedside table just to the right of him only to find that there was something *on* his little table. Opening his eyes he discovered that it was a rolled up parchment. Green parchment.   
  
[Well, that certainly isn't mine. I wonder what, or whose, it is...] Harry thought to himself. Instead of wollowing in curiosity, he plucked the green tube and looked more closely at it.   
  
*For H. Potter*  
  
[Well then, I suppose it is mine. Or at least, it is for me. I suppose I ought to open it?] With a little Gryffindor courage he pulled the scroll open and began to read the silver cursive.  
  
[Silver and green??? Only a Slytherin would use those colours together! But why on Earth would a Slytherin be writing to me? Then again, do I really want to know... yes, I suppose I do. Ought to just read it then, huh?] Suddenly realizing that he was talking to himself, although mentally and not verbally (that goodness for that!) Harry shook his head and began reading the scroll. [I guess this day has been a little more mentally damaging than I had believed.]  
  
There were two seperate writing styles. [How odd.] There were words down the centre of the page, which appeared to be lyrics, either from a poem or from a song. The rest was what appeared to be a letter.  
  
******  
"Well, well, what do I say   
Looks like what goes around comes around   
And everyone will have their final say   
Sometime, someday"  
  
Once, a long time ago, I offered you friendship, which you turned away. I guess that is what I am doing again. Please don't make your decision now, but read the entire letter. Then you can have your final say. I don't think I could ever do this again.   
"Looks like I only   
love God when the sun shines my way   
Looks like I'm into divinity only when I   
can see its sweet, sweet rays"  
  
There is somethign about you that makes me long for goodness, for peace and (dare I say it?) love. You, not your past or your future, but you yourself, make me want to be as pure in heart as I know you to be.   
  
"I say what I mean but I   
don't mean what I say   
Well, well, it's fine out today"  
  
Did you ever notice that every word that comes out of my mouth, especially those directed at you, are sarcastic? I'm sure you have. Every word is an attempt to hide from you. I lie. I lie often. But sometimes, the things that I really want to say scream to be acknowledged. "Like *I* would want to be your friend." I would. "Of course I was looking for you. I *always* want to be around your glowing presense." I would. Part of me always hoped you could ignore my sarcasim and hear the words behind them.  
  
"I say what I mean   
but I don't mean what I say   
Well, well, it's fine out   
Well, well,   
what do I say   
I've never seen a bad day look quite this way"  
  
I know what a horrible day you've had. I see alot more than you might know. It made your eyes fade from emerald to olive. You seemed dejected, alone. My words to you hurt you, didn't they? I really didn't know what to say to you. How to act around you. When Snape partenered us in Potions, I think that I was scared. Please, please, forgive me? I didn't mean them.   
  
"And well,   
well, what do I do   
When all of my thoughts run right back to you   
Looks like I meant to speak with logic,   
but hon', the carnal always gets in the   
way   
Well well, this fire was more funner than proper grammar   
anyway"  
  
All of my thoughts do run right back to you. I honestly can't imagine my life without you. At the end of this year, you will be going your way and I mine. And yet, a part of me, one that I have been trained to ignore, screams with a furosity that overwhelms me. Like a wild beast that demands to be heard. Yet the fear in me (no wonder I was not sorted into Gryffindor) prevents me from opening my mouth, and my heart, honestly to you.   
  
"Then you get to the part where your heart just   
wants to die   
Then you get to the part where your heart screams it just   
sighs"   
  
I think I have come to accept that my heart really can't be ignored, and so I sit here, writing to you. There is a deep wound in my gut, that screams to be healed. And, as rediculous as it may sound, you are the only balm for it. And, without you, it will fester. I do not wish to live my life without you, to turn into my father, to serve someone I could never support freely (not do I want to), to marry some pureblood girl who has been chosen for me but could never love me. Whom I could never love. My heart has already been given, and sits in limbo for it has not been acknowledge or accepted (or even rejected, for then maybe I could have it back).  
  
"Then you get to the part where your heart knows it's a   
crime   
So it flies   
like a bird, it's heard, it's heard, it's heard the word"   
  
My heart made me write this to you, and so if you must blame someone, the blame belongs to it. It could no longer be ignored. There are so many things it wishes to say to you, that I wish to say to you, but cannot. Not here, not yet. I do not expect you to love me. I do not expect you to want to be with me as I want to be with you. But to be your friend would be enough. It would be everything, because then at least you would be by me. I could survive that way.   
"Today, today, today, today   
Well, well, it's   
fine out"  
  
Today is beautiful. Did you not see the sun shine? Hear the birds sing? It is still early fall, but summer holds on. Please do not wallow in your depressing thoughts. Please, let me see you smile, just once? I have to lead tryouts for this years Quidditch team, but I will be thinking of you. We will be off the pitch by 8. Flying makes you happy. I watch you then, too. You are like a bird, not expected to be anyone but who you are. Take your broom, and take to the air.   
  
I will leave it to you, if you wish to see me or not. If you will be my friend or not. If you will let me be yours in return. I really ask nothing more of you. I will not push, or preasure. But know I am yours anyways. For now and forever, regardless of how you respond.  
  
With all my heart, for it is yours anyways, Draco Malfoy  
  
******  
  
Carefully rolling up the parchment, Harry found it hard to focus. The day had been so long, so tiring, and now to read what appeared to be a confession of love? Where had this come from? Now, honestly, Harry was not as clueless as he appeared to be. In reality, he found it was an easier way to deal the with numerous girls who had tried to get too close to him. He had known for a few years that he was not interested in girls (not that he had told anyone this, he simply thought that he wasn't all that interested in relationships and would 'grow into it.') He had thought of guys, and had often woken late at night from dreaming of a fair haired Slytherin. He knew Ron assumed he was having 'dark dreams,' as he had taken to calling Voldemort dreams. But the thought that Malfoy loved him seemed a bit beyond the reach of his mind at this point.   
  
Having exhausted himself, Harry fell into a quick slumber.  
  
At 7:55 he awoke, quickly, as one usually does when one realizes that one is either late for something or should not have fallen asleep in the first place. Like during a Transfiguration exam.   
  
[7:55? Something is about to happen. I need to be somewhere.] Harry hastily stood, grabbed a jumper and his broom (which he had taken to keeping near him for midnight flying sessions) and dashed out of the Gryffindor tower and finally outside. He needed to fly. He had already slept through dinner, Ron and Hermione had probably decided that he needed his rest after the day he'd had. He just needed to be on the Quidditch pitch.   
  
And, no supprise to us readers, arrived exactly when the Slytherin team was leaving after tryouts. The new team members were celebrating, the numerous refused players were holding their heads high and planning their revenge. Malfoy, however, was still flying. He was in his own world, his fine blond hair floating on the wind behind him. He looked completely at peace, at home in the air. No one telling him to be proud and strong, just listening to to song in his heart and for once acting upon it.   
  
Harry watched for a few minutes, awe struck. Then he mounted his broom and flew up in the air, trailing Malfoy just behind the edge of his periferal vision.   
  
He followed the Slytherin to the edge of the lake, then landed beside him.   
  
"Draco."   
  
"Potter?"  
  
"Harry."  
  
"Umm, Harry."  
  
"I got your letter."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Did you mean what you said? In the letter, not in potions."  
  
"Ummm..."  
  
"Do you really want to be my friend?"  
  
"Ummm..."  
  
"Do you really love me?"  
  
"Ummm..."  
  
"Draco?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Look at me."  
  
"I can't."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"I..." Harry reached over and took Draco's hand in his. Lacing his fingers between Draco's he tried again.  
  
"Draco?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Please look at me."  
  
Draco slowly turned his head towards the dark haired boy. His cheeks were pink, but not from flying. There were wet trails down his face, and his eyes were bloodshot.   
  
Gently carressing the side of Draco's cheek with his hand, wiping off tears as they fell, Harry started again for the third time.  
  
"Draco, did you really mean what you wrote in that letter?"  
  
A whisper. "Yes."  
  
"Do you really want to be my friend?"  
  
A silent nod.  
  
"Draco."  
  
Gray eyes met green.  
  
"Do you love me?"  
  
No nod. No words. But none were neccessary. The look in his eyes spoke more than his mouth ever could. Slowly, carefully, Harry pulled Draco closer to him. "I love you, too."  
  
Draco was undone. The tears began anew, but this time were not of pain or fear or unrequited love, but of happiness. A smile painted his lips, which were quickly covered by Harry's. There was no passion, but the promise of it. This was a seeling of bonds, a confession of hearts. This was forever. 


End file.
